Of Daggers and Dragons
by ToixStory
Summary: When the interests of NATO, the Soviet Union, and China come to a head over the future of South Korea, the task of preventing a three-way World War III falls to MI6 super-spy James Bond.
1. Chapter 1: A Sheperd and His Flock

I thought I would try doing a different sort of story, having finally finished my National Novel Writer's Month manuscript and came up with this. As far as background information goes, this Bond is basically Daniel Craig's James Bond, but taking place during the Cold War. As always comments and especially criticisms are welcome, as I may go back and edit this chapter later. Cheers!

Baengnyeong Island, South Korea, 1978

Lieutenant Hershel Sheperd, SEAL Team commander, helped the struggling defector out of his cheap, rubber raft onto the northern shores of Baengnyeong Island. Without a moon, the water seemed eerily dark and lifeless. The sputtering North Korean defector struggled to his feet in the middle of the watchful SEAL team. None of them spoke Korean, and he didn't speak English; the team had been scrambled too fast to locate a translator.

Pointing across the newly-tilled fields toward the distant lights of a town, Sheperd indicated for the defector to follow them to the waiting burg, and the safety of an evacuation helicopter to Seoul.

"Move out, quiet as you can," Sheperd told his men, picking up his rifle. His men didn't need the prodding anyways; all three were battle-hardened veterans, and it showed in their quick, precise movements. Still, Sheperd's gut told him something wasn't right, and so far his gut had never been wrong; it was the reason why his body wasn't lying in a ditch beside a street in Beirut.

"Townsend," he said, pulling the oldest member of the team aside, "Keep on the radio at all times until we're at the landing site; at the first sign of trouble call for backup." Townsend, a good soldier and used to his commanding officer's mannerisms, nodded and turned his radio back on, switching to the encrypted channel. Sheperd looked at the defector, making sure he wasn't falling behind. For having just been pulled from the water, the defector seemed to be able to keep up with the trained SEAL team. Sheperd wished he could talk to the man, definitely ex-Military and probably ex-Intelligence if he could warrant having a SEAL team scrambled to his location in less than 48 hours. Whatever was going on behind the scene was big, and it left a bad taste in Sheperd's mouth. Being left out of the loop usually resulted in a lot of dead soldiers.

Coming to a dirt path leading to the village, the team stopped beside the road to scout out the town as per usual. The town was nothing more than a few sparse buildings spread around a central square, all dark and quiet. While they paused, Sheperd put down his rifle and rubbed a gloved hand over his left shoulder, rubbing the area where a sniper had missed his head.

Sergeant Travis, carrying a scoped M14, crouched and moved up the dirt path, scouting the village. "Looks quiet to me, sir; most of the civvies are going to be asleep," he whispered.

Corporal Michaels, the greenhorn who had been added to the team at the last second, spoke up. "Sir, why are we being so careful about the village? This is _South_ Korea, friendly territory."

Bringing up his own scope for a look, Sheperd surveyed the village himself. "You can never be too sure..."

Travis, moving back to the group, tapped Sheperd's shoulder and used his hands to indicate that the Lieutenant should look to the far right in the village. Looking through the scope at night, Sheperd couldn't see much of anything that wasn't illuminated by street lamps or the odd electric light. Here in the rural areas of an already-rural island, electricity was sporadic at best. However, something did glint in the darkness; and in a way that Sheperd knew he had seen before. It looked wet and sticky, and stuck to the side of a building.

His eyes widening in realization, Sheperd broke composure briefly and shouted, "Run!"

Needing no prodding, the entire team turned tail back in the direction of the beach. Though he didn't understand the word, the defector obviously understood Sheperd's intent and set off with the others. No sooner had the SEAL team started to run back across the fields, gunfire erupted from the village. Hiding in wait between piles of dead villagers, the North Korean assassins opened up on the exposed SEAL team. Running back across the fields, each SEAL took time to pause and turn to give supporting fire for the team. Bullets kicked up dirt at Sheperd's feet, and one ripped off part of his shirt without taking any of Sheperd with it. With so much incoming fire, the team would never make it while having to protect the defector. Reaching a hillock, Sergeant Travis dropped to one knee and swung his M14 up to face the oncoming attackers. "Go!" he shouted, as his rifle barked and slung lead downrange. North Koreans started to drop while the rest switched their fire to Travis's position. Sheperd wanted to protest, but he didn't have time and their mission was too important to let feelings get in the way.

Sergeant Townsend, having been fumbling with the radio the whole, laughed in exasperation as the radio crackled to life; it had been out since they started to run. Speaking into the mike, he said, "Alpha-four-one, this is Team Six requesting immediate evac, we are under heavy fire, repeat, heavy fire and Oscar-Mike to the tertiary fallback position; package is still alive and is awaiting transp-" A bullet snapped through Travis's neck and burrowed into the soft earth beside him.

Stopping and turning around, Sheperd shouted and ran back toward the body of his comrade, and more importantly, the radio. Pushing aside his anger and grief, he snatched the radio receiver from his dead comrade and indicated for Corporal Michaels to get beside him and lay down covering fire. The defector, running for his life in blind terror, managed to stop himself and jump into a nearby ditch. The gunfire on their position had been ebbing under the tide of Sergeant Travis's sniper fire, but now intensified once again. "He's gone," Michaels muttered under his breath.

Cradling the radio, Sheperd waited for a confirmation on the channel. A distorted voice finally came on the set, telling them, "…repeat, that is a copy Team Six, we are clear for dust-off at the tertiary fallback position; ETA three minutes."

Sheperd thanked whatever god watched over him that the helicopter had decided to get on station a little bit early. The radio cut out, but Sheperd already had all the reason to hurry. He grabbed the defector from his hiding place and got him to his feet, ready to move out. The North Koreans were close now, and firing more than ever, and Michaels wasn't returning fire. Sheperd rolled him over and discovered that the rookie now had a very large hole where his left eye had once been. Cursing, Sheperd snapped Michaels's tags off and resumed his run to the evacuation zone, the defector hot on his tail.

The attackers were so close that Sheperd could hear them shouting in Korean. Just as Sheperd and the defector reached the top of the hill, and the promised safety of a waiting helicopter on the other side, the North Koreans opened up for one last volley. There was no question that the defector was dead, as bullets tore through his clothes and body like they were made of rice paper.

Sheperd didn't have time to look and gape, not if he wanted to live. He dropped his weapons and sprinted with everything he had to the cleared field on the other side of the hill, and the waiting heli sitting on the grass. Sheperd looked behind his back and waited until the rest of the North Koreans crested the hill before he dropped and hugged the ground for dear life. Taking his cue, the door gunner on the Huey let loose with his machine gun, mowing down the attacking Koreans.

After waiting for the gunner to give a last few bursts from the gun out of exhilaration, Sheperd picked himself back up and stumbled wearily to the helicopter, his auburn hair blowing about his face in the backwash.

"Anyone with you?" the door-gunner shouted over the noise.

Sheperd shook his head. "I'm it." The gunner shrugged and helped the SEAL aboard as the helicopter took off. Safe in the air, Sheperd could let his anger and grief return.

With a sudden shift in his mood of elation to anger, his fist hit the riveted interior of the helicopter. A whole SEAL team lost and nothing to show for it except for a straggling commander. Holding his now-throbbing hand, he thought that he shouldn't have kept running; better to have died with his men. His son, Hershel, would have been proud to know his dad died heroically. Dark thoughts of court martials and demotions collected in his head as he adjusted in the uncomfortable bucket seat. The gunner watched the SEAL commander with sympathy, wisely choosing to not talk to the distressed commando. He'd seen enough to know that losing men wasn't easy, even worse on a failed mission.

Instead, he stared out across the ocean at the waiting lights of the South Korean mainland. In a few hours he would be back into the streets of Seoul and ready to wash away his thoughts with cheap Korean alcohol.


	2. Chapter 2: Musings and Melancholy at MI6

Haven't gotten much feedback on my previous chapter, but I'm going to go ahead with the second chapter to my story. It's a little short and heavy on the dialogue, but hopefully it will suffice to set up the rest of the story. Reading and Reviewing is always appreciated. Cheers!

SIS Headquarters, London, United Kingdom,1978  
>3 Days After Baengnyeong Island Incident<p>

In the year that had passed since James Bond, Agent 007 of MI6, had set foot in the Century House, little had changed. The only word for the building was drab, and theme had remained consistently lackluster in Bond's absence. The same secretaries and office workers nodded to him in the same knowing manner, hardly remarking the spy's strange absence. Taking the lift to M's office, Bond almost felt at home.

M's room, however, reminded Bond of just how much had changed. The view from the plate-glass windows was still nice, but the room lacked the old vitality Bond had grown to know. Instead of tastefully-placed books and paintings, memos and maps covered in thumbtacks lined the walls and cluttered the floor; the entire surface of M's desk was covered in sheets and stacks of papers, clustered around a beat-up typewriter in the middle. M looked positively old and frail amongst the chaos, though what she lacked in appearance she made up for in attitude.

"Well, come in then," she instructed, "And do shut your mouth, it's very unbecoming." Bond did as he was told and walked into the room; he had to scoot a heap of manila folders off of an old wooden chair before he could sit down.

Getting right to business, M said, "I'm glad you decided to take this mission after all, James; there are those around here that believed you had gone soft after Kashmir."

Bond, still trying to adjust to the uncomfortable chair, raised an eyebrow. "Soft? I would have thought I warranted a little more than that."

A small, prim smile formed on M's face. "So you would think."

Changing the subject, she began to search within the piles of folders on her desk for something. Watching her, Bond could really see how bad the past year had been for her. Her skin was sallow and her hair frazzled and stringy. It looked like long nights had been getting to her, and Bond sympathised with her; it had been a bad year for everyone. Investigations by the UN and a drop in support from the Prime Minister and most of Parliament after Kashmir had damaged the organization. Finding the object of her search, and snapping Bond out of his reverie, M held the folder before her like a prize.

"Now James, I assume you have heard of the recent incident on Baengnyeong Island, correct?"

Bond, nodding his head, "I've heard the BBC's version- so what really happened?"

Opening the manila folder in her hand, she scanned the contents and then replied, "An entire team sent from the United States was wiped out, save for one man. Their mission was to capture a North Korean Intelligence defector. Rumor had it that this man was high up in the organization, and that he knew something big was about to happen."

"So...what _was_ about to happen?" Bond asked, skipping to the point before she could go on.

"That's the problem," M replied, "He was killed on the island before the CIA had a chance to formally talk with him; he took those secrets to his grave."

"I assume it is now my job to find those secrets?" Bond asked, picking up the narrative. "And since the US team failed the job falls to SIS?"

M wasn't amused. "You are correct, James." She flipped through yet another stack of files before pulling one out. "Your assignment is in here." She sighed and sat down at her desk, seemingly only now noticing the absolute mess it was. "I know this is less formal and more punctual than you're used to, James, but I don't have much of a choice. Parliament has been on my back ever since your last mission, and we desperately need this. A successful mission will restore the people's confidence in us; we need it."

Bond nodded, surprisingly finding himself thankful that he had left for a year, he'd had it easy by comparison.

Shaking her head and straightening his assignment papers, she said, "You are to take these papers and board a flight to Seoul in four hours. We don't want to announce your return to the organization quite yet, so you will be on a commercial flight from Heathrow. Once you arrive in Seoul, a representative of NATO command in South Korea will meet you. He'll fill you in on everything else."

She looked up from the file in her hands with a slight disdain. "The Americans, as usual, are keeping their cards close to their chests. They won't tell you anything they don't want you to know, so it will be up to you to find out what you need to know." Bond, under M's gaze, shook his head yes. He hadn't expected her to be forgiving of his year-long refusal of assignments, so he was a little off put by her openness.

"Off you go then, I have other matters to take care of and things to do, 006 will be here shortly and I can't miss him, I assure you," M said, handing him the file. Bond rose from his chair with a creek, and accepted the folder before turning to the door.

"And James?" she called as his hand reached the knob. "Do be careful...don't want to see you get hurt again."

Bond turned his head and gave a reassuring smile. "Don't worry Mum, I won't." He opened the door, their conversation over, and left the office to head toward his flat, and then to Heathrow. Walking out of the building, he felt odd and wondered why. He smiled when he realized what it was: it was good to be back.


	3. Chapter 3: Red Tape for Red Parties

Thanks for everyone reading my last chapters, and a special thanks to Bisslebork for reviewing! I tried out some new stuff with pacing on this one, hopefully to help move the story along. This chapter started as two seperate chapters, but go squeezed into one extra-long chapter for your viewing pleasure. As always, thanks for reading and reviewing, everyone. Cheers!

Gimpo International Airport, Seoul, South Korea, 1978

After the last five-hour leg of his flight to Seoul, James Bond was beginning to forget why he was so glad to be back. Commercial flying was definitely not for him, he decided. Bond walked out of the boarding tunnel into the crowded Gimpo International Airport. Looking around, he couldn't see any familiar faces. What caught his eye, however, were two out-of-place men dressed in dark suits. Bond sighed and shook his head as he walked over to them. _Americans_.

Dressed in plainclothes, Bond seemed to be below notice to the two men in black until he was practically in their faces. "Oh, sir, didn't quite uh...see you there," the shorter one stammered, surprised at the spy's sudden appearance; which was odd, given the circumstances.

"Bond. James Bond, at your service," Bond said as he extended his hand. The more confident, and taller, of the two took the offered hand and shook it. In a tidewater accent, he told him, "There's a car waiting for you, Mr. Bond. We will explain more on the way." Bond nodded his head, this airport was surely tapped by North Korea, if not the KGB.

The Americans led Bond to a waiting car, subtly disguised as an all-black, polished Lincoln. Bond rolled his eyes but willingly got into the backseat. The agents sat on each side of him as the car rolled off.

"I was told this was to be a NATO operation, not an American one," Bond said, breaking the silence.

The shorter agent spoke. "That may have been...an exaggeration."

"Think of it less of a NATO operation and more as an operation in NATO's interests," the taller agent suggested helpfully.

"Alright, well, can you at least tell me where we are going?"

The two agents looked at each other before the taller answered, "Camp Casey, just outside Dongducheon; about 40 miles from Seoul."

"So US Army territory then," Bond said dejectedly.

"2nd Infantry," the short agent said with pride. The agents seemed to expect Bond would talk more, but that wasn't the case. The rest of his questions could be answered once they got there.

The car pulled through the gates of Camp Casey after being cleared by security. The man at the gate acted like international spies came through the base every day. On account of location, Bond thought, maybe they did.

Passing through the base, Bond saw the usual activity on any military base: soldiers training, officials passing by in cars, and aircraft droning overhead. What caught Bond's eye, and caused him to look a second time, was a small contingent of soldiers running while hoisting the Union Jack.

"I thought you said this was an American-only operation, besides myself," Bond commented.

"There's an SAS contingent on the base," the shorter agent explained. "They won't be helping you on your mission though, they have separate orders."

"I should expect as much," Bond said. The car stopped in front of a seemingly-normal building. Bond scooted off the seat and stood up outside the car, squinting in the sunlight. When had it gotten so bright outside?

Armed guards surrounded him on all sides as Bond was led into the building. Heels clacking on the tile floor, Bond had to squint to see in the dim fluorescent light. He was astounded; it seemed he had managed to find a building drabber than the Century House, which was saying something.

Further inside was a neat and orderly office, in which sat an equally-neat and orderly man. Bond's eyes widened as he checked the man's shoulder tabs. _Lieutenant General_. This operation must mean a lot to the Americans, then.

Sitting in two gunmetal-gray and green chairs across from the Lieutenant General were two other officers. SAS officers, it seemed. Looking up, the general said, "Ah, Mr. Bond, please excuse me, I have not quite finished my meeting with the SAS representatives." Forcedly, the senior officer offered his name. "I am Captain Roper, and this is my adjutant, Lieutenant Price," the Captain said coldly. Lieutenant Price nodded in his direction. It was obvious they didn't welcome someone from MI6 on SAS territory.

Breaking the silence, the Lieutenant General said, "Captain Roper, we can finish this another time. You are dismissed." Captain Roper nodded but did not salute; he and Lieutenant Price walked out the door. The general sighed as they left and sunk lower into his chair, seemingly more comfortable around a lowly spy than fellow soldiers.

"Friendly bunch, those two," he said to himself. Continuing, he told Bond, "Take a seat Mr. Bond." He shooed the guards out, who would naturally be waiting outside with an ear to the door.

Bond now saw the plaque on the general's desk that read _Lieutenant General David Grange_. General Grange, meanwhile, had started to sort through files inside a metal cabinet.

Finding purchase, he pulled one out. Setting it on the desk, he said, "Excuse my language Mr. Bond, but let's cut through the bullshit. We need your help on this one, and we need it quick. We lost some good men on that island, and our most valuable asset in twenty years to boot."

"Why not just send in someone from the CIA?" Bond asked.

"Most of the CIA's assets are in Europe right now, and what we have in Asia doesn't have the...expertise in these matters."

"I assume you haven't heard of Kashmir, then?" Bond quipped.

General Grange didn't seem to appreciate humour any better than M did. "I have been notified of your...actions in Kashmir Mr. Bond, but that will not deter this operation. What we need is simple: we land you in Russia, you head from there into North Korea, and you find out just what the hell is going on up there." With his last sentence, he jerked his thumb in the general direction of the DMZ.

Bond crossed his arms, "I suppose I don't get a say in the matter?"

General Granger shook his head and placed a hand on his brow. "Look, here's how it goes son. A, you carry out the mission as planned and help us protect South Korea from the commies. Or, B, you refuse and are locked inside a military stockade for the next hundred years or until the United States wins World War III; take your pick. You limeys may not be concerned about Asia's affairs since Vietnam, but to the Department of Defense South Korea represents a valuable asset that must be kept safe at all costs."

Bond resisted the urge to raise his hands in defense. "When do I leave?" he asked.

General Granger handed him his orders before telling him, "You leave in thirty minutes to a US Naval Base. There, you will board the USS _Theodore Roosevelt_; she will take you to the designated drop point."

The general rose from his seat, standing tall and erect. "Are we understood?"

Bond stood as well and straightened his back to follow suit. "Crystal, sir."

"Good," General Grange said, handing him his orders. "These are your orders, carry them out to the letter and this whole crisis will blow over nice and quiet."

Bond nodded and remained standing, confused as to whether he should leave yet.

The general looked up at him and grunted, "Dismissed."

"You have got to be kidding me," Bond muttered to himself upon seeing the USS _Theodore Roosevelt_. When he had read in his orders that he was to be dropped off by the _Roosevelt_, he had expected being dropped in a dinghy by a surface ship. Instead, the _Roosevelt _was a submarine. "Guess, I'll be getting wet, then," Bond said, again to himself.

He walked down the gangplank, duffel bag on his shoulder, to the open hatch of the _Roosevelt_. A young sailor at the entrance stopped him until Bond showed his papers. The captain of the _Roosevelt_ was amiable enough about having a spy on board given the circumstances.

"You will be confined to a corner of the crew's quarters for the duration of the trip, and you will not emerge until we are near Vladivostok," he had said.

So Bond kept to himself for the trip, mostly content to rest or catch up on his Korean during the trip. Luckily, the sailors onboard seemed downright cheery for submariners; they were dropping him off before buzzing around Kamchatka and then heading home.

Finally, the sub reached the waters near Vladivostok. Bond was led to an empty ballistic missile tube, where he was issued a wetsuit as well as a special engine...thing. It was basically a small submarine, with a hatch inside for storing gear; there were handles on the outside for him to hang on to. He wasn't taking much gear besides the usual necessities.

His only real "gadget" was a relay device that, when activated, used satellites to pinpoint his exact location anywhere in the world for location and possible extraction. It was apparently pretty new around the CIA, so they evidently intended to get it back. Other than the locating device, he had several poisons and syringes, along with a silenced Makarov PM. The US military was certainly no-nonsense about its spying missions, it seemed.

Once in the wetsuit and his gear safely inside the minisub, the missile hatch opened, letting in a rush of water. Bond struggled to hold on to the minsub as the water cascaded over him. As soon as the tube was filled, however, Bond put his minsub in gear and propelled away from the _Roosevelt_. The oxygen tank he had been given would only last him two hours, and he didn't want to see how far he could make it last.

Bond steered the submersible toward the direction of the city, which was a straight line from the rear propeller of the _Roosevelt_. The trip would be about an hour, as the captain of the _Roosevelt_ hadn't wanted to get so close to the HQ for the Soviet Pacific Fleet.

The hour passed, and Bond found himself on the edge of Vladivostok. He made sure to steer the minisub away from the main harbour and onto a quiet beach. Had any locals been around they would have thought it funny seeing a man in a skintight wetsuit dragging a miniature submarine to shore; before they were shot for their troubles, of course.

Bond stripped out of the wetsuit into his civilian clothes and pulled his gear, placed inside an ordinary backpack, out of the minisub. Putting the wetsuit in the submersible, he kicked it out to sea with the storage hatch open, letting it sink to the ocean floor.

He walked into town, following the same route as the poor farmers coming into town to sell their goods. His worries of fitting in were quickly assuaged as the dust from the road left Bond with a layer of filth on his body, rendering him an anonymous face in the crowds of poor. Bond's orders had told him to get into contact with a local smuggler, named (unimaginatively) Wolf.

If the American intelligence was right, Wolf hung out at the local seedy bar, looking for customers and keeping up his tab. Bond decided to try there first, and walked into the smoke-filled bar.

The place was crowded, so Bond went unnoticed as he walked in and headed toward the back. Bond didn't have to look long; for being a smuggler, Wolf really stuck out.

The man had a massive and dirty beard, which was coupled with his equally-dirty clothing. He wasn't fat, but was certainly headed in the right direction. The man was chatting rapidly in a mix of Russian, Chinese, and Korean with his friends when Bond approached him. Despite his looks, the man seemed to up-to-date on his knowledge of spies.

"Excuse me for a second," he said in a strange agglomeration of the three languages. He pulled Bond aside and spoke in German, presumably as to not be overheard. Bond was surprised at his amount of languages, but it was rumoured that Wolf was ex-KGB.

"Americans, you are always late," he spat. From the smell of his breath and the tone of his voice, the man was buzzed. When Bond gave him an angry look, Wolf half-shrugged and said, "You Westerners are all the same, anyways. I can hardly tell any of you apart!"

Bond rolled his eyes and waited for the man to take another plug from a nearby bottle.

"So," he said, continuing," You want to get over the border, eh?"

"Quiet, not so loud," Bond said, looking around anxiously. Wolf gave a hearty laugh and slapped himself on the knee.

"This is a Russian bar my friend, no one cares what you say here," he said, lapsing back and forth between Russian and German.

Trying to edge his way to the point, Bond just nodded and said, "Alright, yes. I need you to get me over the border to North Korea, and I need you to bring me there as soon as you can."

"North Korea, eh?" he asked. "Much more difficult than China, but I can still make due. The fee is fifty thousand dollars."

Bond handed him a sack from inside his backpack that was filled with bills. "Here's a hundred thousand if we leave tomorrow."

His eyes glistening over, Wolf could only answer, "Agreed."

Wolf was waiting for him outside the city limits the next morning. Wolf was carrying a simple backpack, similar to Bond's.

"Traveling a little light, aren't we?" Bond asked.

Wolf shrugged. "Easier to run when you're not carrying much."

The two set off south, toward the border. It wasn't easy going on the road; the way to North Korea wasn't exactly a popular one. They had been walking a few hours when Wolf led Bond aside to rest. "We need to keep our energy up," he explained.

Bond scouted the area, searching for anyone following them. They were stopped atop a small ridge, and Bond walked under it to look.

"Shouldn't we start to see Army patrols soon?" he called to Wolf.

"You might say that," Wolf called, though his voice came from much closer to Bond than the ridge.

Turning around, Bond saw that Wolf had an AK-74 in his hands, pointed straight at him.

"I thought this was all a little too convenient," Bond muttered, mostly to himself.

Unsurprisingly, camouflaged soldiers garbed in the uniforms of the Spetsnaz appeared on all sides. A tall, blonde man stepped out in front of the soldiers. He was garbed in the uniform of the KGB.

He nodded to Bond, "James."

Bond nodded back, "Abram."

Abram Volkov, head of anti-intelligence in the KGB, tipped his cap to Bond.

"I'm sorry for the rough introduction, James, but we had to do something." Wolf, though Bond supposed he wasn't the real smuggler, poked him with a gun from behind.

"I assume the real Wolf is dead?"

Abram laughed, as if Bond was a small child saying something ridiculous. "What do you take me for? Your smuggler friend is enjoying counting trees in Siberia, I imagine."

He walked up next to Bond, their shoulders almost touching.

"I wish I could be less direct, James, but time is of the essence." He pulled out a hypodermic needle. "This is why I must apologize in advance."

Before Bond could pull away, he felt the sharp sting of the needle in his arm, followed shortly by a creeping feeling of exhaustion.

Abram stepped in front of him, a cheeky grin decorating his face. "Don't worry James, you're in good hands. When you wake up, everything will be explained."

Abram kept talking, but Bond couldn't hear him. His legs gave out under him, but Bond was unconscious before he hit the ground.


End file.
